amaranthine
by milk ghost
Summary: Noelle dies in Asta's arms, then wakes up in the future—also in Asta's arms. What the hell is going on? — asta/noelle
1. i black

**notes:** i would date asta, just saying. dream guy material right there. anyways, i have no explanation for this at all. there is a lack of these two, and it paints me greatly.

 **notes2:** largely inspired by florence + the machine. also, i'm gonna hate myself for this format later.

 **disclaimer:** y'all already know what i'm gonna say.

...

i. **black** —for the tainted sorrow

[ _oh, I couldn't say I need more time_ ]

...

They are seventeen.

Young and wild and untamed things that have seen more death and decay and disaster than most teenagers their age. And at the end of the day, that's all they really are—teenagers. At the end of the day when they take off their robes bearing the insignia of their beloved squad, when they sink into the couches (all weary and grateful and satisfied) or collapse into bed, they are still children.

They would do anything for their kingdom, for the people, for their friends, and for the Black Bulls. That's just the way it was, is, will always be. They will fight bloody and battle worn and until their last breath to protect. They've faced the threat of death so many times that they've long since lost count. Yet each and every time they come back roaring, and stronger, and hungrier than before.

Asta is going to be the Wizard King.

Noelle, bless her heart, would do anything for him. He's the first peasant she has ever acknowledged. He has her complete trust, complete faith, and all of her heart. She probably trusts him more than Yami, wildly enough. He's a tad unrefined and wild-eyed, all boisterous voice and show-stopping smile. Asta doesn't even have a last name, but he doesn't need one. He is the embodiment of hopes and dreams, the boy without any shred of magic that miraculously made it into the Magic Knights. He never, ever gives up.

She would die for him without hesitation.

And that's exactly the problem.

Because he's also still a bit of an idiot, even after all this time.

Somehow, in some random and freak moment of chance, Asta does not notice the fatal attack headed directly for him. Curse all his ridiculous ki talk to hell, she thinks absently, and makes a decision that will probably be her last. There's no time for magic, no time for a spell.

Noelle throws herself in the way.

The thing is...though he might actually be the biggest, most oblivious, awkward, loud-mouthed moron of the century, he cannot die here. Asta is destined for greatness, because he is great. And she had sworn to herself forever ago that she would help make sure he got there—no matter the cost.

Everything stops, for a second.

She sees the recognition in his eyes, can hear his war cry change to a blood-curdling scream because he knows, he _knows_. She wishes that he hadn't seen, wishes that the look of horror on his face wouldn't be one of the last things she sees. It makes her choke up a little, and she does her best to send him a smile. She reaches out to him, wraps her arms around his neck and takes the hit.

And then they're back to real time.

He's screaming so loud that she almost can't register how much pain she's in. There's blood everywhere, and she's a little sad that her new dress is ruined. In the distance, she can hear her comrades' startled cries, and even Captain Yami is swearing. The entire ground quivers and she pales, from blood loss and the thought of how frightening her Captain is when angered.

Asta cradles her in his arms, hands flitting about as he tries to assess her injuries. "Noelle you _idiot_ ," he chokes, and her heart hurts more than anything in her body, "what the hell? What the _hell_ were you _thinking_?!"

He calls Mimosa over because he has to save her—she has to _live_. He's always the one on the brink of death, not her. Never her.

She manages a laugh, although it's more of her coughing up blood than anything. "Ha...Stupid...sta. I thought..."

Asta gently wipes some of the blood away from her lips and she wonders, faintly, if they ever could have stood a chance. Would he have given up his futile crush on Sister Lily? Would he have ever considered a girl like her? What would it have been like to stay by his side forever?

The thoughts ache worse than her wounds, and she tears up a little. She wishes that she could've had more time.

"Stop," Asta grits his teeth. "You shouldn't talk. Mimosa is almost here. You'll be okay. You're going to be okay."

Wow. Somehow she isn't shocked that he's still so stupid, even to the end.

"You're not done yet," he tells her, but it sounds more like he's pleading. "Noelle..."

She hadn't thought about how much everything would hurt. Dying royally sucked, but it's worth it in the end, because she saved his life. It's a little poetic, in a crappy way. He had saved her life when she wouldn't even acknowledge him. He had given her hope and a dream. Now here they were.

"Asta," Noelle summons all the strength left within her to lift her hand to his face. "I'm sorry."

She can feel his chest heave. He shakes his head. He doesn't want to believe.

If only she'd been braver sooner.

"Asta," Noelle smiles, "I...love—"

She would die with one regret.

She couldn't ever tell him the truth, even in the end. Maybe she really was pathetic, after all.

They are still children of seventeen when she dies in the arms of the love of her life.

" _NOELLE_!"

x

She wakes with a start at the heart-wrenching scream of her name. Something stops her from bolting up, however, and she freezes. A sickening feeling rises in her stomach, the lingering ache of the wounds still clinging to her body. She looks down to see if there's still blood everywhere, but instead notices the incredibly strong, very built arms encasing her.

What the heck?

Hadn't she just died? Holy crap. She _had_ just died.

She pales, wondering what in the world is going on. Had she actually been drugged and kidnapped? Because she distinctly remembers everything in her life up until the point where she died trying to confess to the boy she loved. Then she woke up in a room that isn't familiar at all with some stranger's arms wrapped around her. If there was ever any time to panic, now would be it.

Noelle stiffens, mind switching gears as she finally feels the warm and hard body behind her. Her eyes narrow. What foul, moronic, bastard had a hold of her? What had he done to her? How stupid could he actually be to pull this on _her_? She is _royalty_. As a favor to women and girls everywhere, she would erase him from the mortal plane.

Anger surging through her veins, she slowly turns to face the brute of a fiend that had decided to foolishly lay hands on her. She would castrate him in his sleep and then hang him upside down and naked from the window of his own home.

Noelle raises her fist to strike, and then nearly has a heart attack.

Because the bastard holding her isn't a bastard after all. It's an idiotic peasant whom she recognizes all too well. The only problem is that he's older. Like, several years older.

The reality of the situation slams her like one of Magna's home run fireballs. She's in bed with a half naked Asta—who looks, by the way, 20-something—and he's holding her in his arms as if she's some sort of stuffed plush like Gauche would buy for Marie.

Noelle's brain short-circuits.

She screams.

...

[ _grant that I can stay the night_ ]

...

tbc

 **end notes:** i actually lost part of my soul proofreading this because i'm an idiot and somehow wrote it in all lowercase. BYE.


	2. ii violet

**notes:** this is dedicated to seachelles, who, only a few days ago, apparently didn't even know what _black clover_ was. yet she read this anyway. i cried when i read your review. omg.

 **notes2:** sorry, in advance, because this is _messy._

...

ii. **violet** —dreaming wide awake

[ _if you let me go, life would lose its touch_ ]

...

Noelle screams, terror and confusion clouding her senses as she flails in an attempt to distance herself from the man next to her.

She's dead. She died. She closed her eyes and woke up next to Asta. Except it can't be Asta because he's older and she's dead and none of this makes any _sense._ She remembers—remembers the feeling of all her ribs breaking simaltaneously, the blood spilling out of her wounds and lips and all over everything. She remembers the look on Asta's face. It's something that she can't ever, ever forget.

Her terrified shrieking rouses the form of her squad mate. His eyes snap open immediately, hands and eyes searching for her. Noelle clutches her hands to her chest and kicks the sheets away as she scrambles out of the bed.

"Noelle? Noelle what's wrong? Hey. Hey, it's okay."

He sounds older, now.

Her heart hurts again.

The tears begin to fall before she's even aware of their presence, and suddenly she can't stop crying. This must all be some sort of sick dream. There's no way this is real. Because she died in his arms only a few moments ago and now, and now—

A familiar warmth wraps itself around her and pulls her close. She hates how real it feels. "Noelle? What happened? Are you hurt?"

Asta (only it's _not_ Asta) pulls away to look her in the eyes. There are emotions in them that she's never seen in him before, that she could pleasantly drown in and never think to wish for air. He brushes a gentle thumb across her cheek to collect some of her tears. "Was it a bad dream?"

A horrible, terrible, awful dream. A nightmare.

She hasn't woken from it, yet.

"I'm _dead_ ," she chokes out between sobs, wishing he both would and wouldn't let her go. "I _died_."

Asta pushes her bangs out of her eyes and she wonders, somewhere through her grief, when he became so tender. "Noelle, you're okay. You're here with me."

It's not _funny_ , she wants to scream at all the entities listening in. She will scream and scream and scream until her throat is hoarse and her tears have drowned her. If this is a glimpse at what life _could have been_ , a peak into her almost future, she would rather just die right now. It hurts too much. She's used to not having what she really wants, but this is far worse than that.

Her sobbing has turned near hysteric now. Any moment all of this will disappear and she will be reduced to nothing, or whatever actually comes after death. And yet, second by second passes and turns into a minute, then two, then three. She's left shaking against him, because he is also still here with her. He hasn't disappeared like she wished and didn't wish.

"Noelle," Asta murmurs into her hair, but in her ears he's younger and screaming her name like a desperate prayer. "Noelle."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She chokes on her hiccups, and he doesn't let her go. "Asta I—"

His hand finds her wrist and he carefully, slowly guides her palm to his chest. She can feel the gentle thrum of his heartbeat beneath his skin. Her hand burns as if it's on fire. "I'm alive. See? That means that you're alive."

Noelle swallows a sob and manages to lift her eyes to his. There's a soft lopsided smile on his face, and she's reminded of all the things she loves in him. She attempts to stifle the rest of her crying, and rubs the back of her hand across her eyes to erase the tears. Still, her lip trembles and her throat feels tight, as if she might start crying again at any given second.

There are scars on his body that she's never seen before—ones he doesn't have at seventeen. She spies a particularly nasty-looking one across his abdomen, and she wonders how he got it. How many almost deaths has he experienced since seventeen? How many times has she almost—would she almost lose him? Her eyes flutter as she realizes that she's not even around to lose him, anymore.

Her eyes feel heavy, and suddenly she feels so very tired. This must be it, then, the actual end of her. She will close her eyes for real and forever this time. She will not wake up in a strange bed with an older version of the boy she loves—loved. Everything blurs, and she vaguely resisters Asta sighing. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, going out with this memory, no matter how fabricated.

x

Then, her eyes fly open again and suddenly she's never felt more alive in all her (un?)life.

She wrenches herself away from Asta, giving him a good uppercut to the jaw as she does. Horror dawns on her face as she frantically pulls the blankets around her and scoots as far away from him as possible.

"What are you doing in my bed?!"

Dazed, Asta stares back at her, nursing his sore jaw. "Noelle? What the hell?"

Yeah, her sentiments exactly.

She points an accusing finger at him, eyes narrowed, while her other hand searches for her grimoire. "You're in _my_ bed! T-that's incredibly improper! I'm a lady! Have you forgotten that I'm royalty, Stupidsta?"

Asta looks confused, the poor idiot. He may be older, but it appears as if he hasn't gotten any brighter. Shame. Nearly everything else about him has matured other than his intelligence. "Yeah, this is your bed, but—"

She can't find her grimoire, so she winds up to beat him to a miserable pulp instead.

"—we went to bed together a few hours ago. Noelle, we sleep together all the time."

Suddenly he's right in her face, and she remembers that he has absolutely no regard for or concept of personal space. She goes rigid as he puts the back of his hand on her forehead. "Are you feeling alright? Do you have a fever?"

"No I do _not,_ " she screeches, shoving his hand away and wondering what in the name of the Wizard King is going on. Clearly this wasn't a dream. Somehow she knows that much.

"No _elle_ ," he whines, putting extra emphasis on the last part of her name. "It's cold and you're wearing my shirt. Could you at least share a little blanket?"

Scoffing, she is about to defend herself when her eyes travel down and Noelle nearly almost dies again because sure enough, she is wearing a white tunic that definitely does not belong to her.

"Eh?"

Asta rubs the back of his neck as her gaze wanders wildly about the room. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror through the moonlight. Her hair is shorter, eyes wide, and body older than she ever remembers. He isn't the only one who has aged. Her words fail her as she struggles to comprehend the situation. Had she died and woken up in some alternate future timeline? Was she actually dead? Was this heaven, or something like it? Was this her afterlife? What exactly had happened when she had closed her eyes for the last time at seventeen?

"Euuuugh," she intones, not able to say much else.

Her mind feels like she hasn't slept in days. This is way too much to process at once. Couldn't she have had a few years or whatever? After all, she had just sacrificed her life. Give her a break, universe.

An emotion akin to concern crosses Asta's features. He reaches for her, again, and she nearly screeches. "Noelle? Hey. You look like you've seen a ghost. What's wrong?"

There he goes again. What's /wrong/ is that she is supposed to be dead and they aren't supposed to be in the same bed and she isn't supposed to be wearing his shirt and they aren't supposed to be _older_ or _together—_

Noelle pinches herself. Once, twice, three times. She wraps her arms around her stomach, double checking for the mortal wounds that just took—or should've taken—her life. She checks her pulse, by her neck and her wrist. It thrums through her veins, alive and real. Her fingertips still tingle with the rhythm of Asta's heart. Everything, every single thing, indicates that she's alive and well and very much not dead. She's not sure if it's a miracle or magic or what, exactly.

But this seems to be real—all of it.

Her cheeks burn, and she curls in on herself. She doesn't remember falling asleep in his shirt or why she's wearing it in the first place. She doesn't remember climbing into bed with Asta or him pulling her close. This is what she's always wanted, and yet, it feels so alien to her.

This isn't her Asta.

Her Asta is an awkward, simple, idiotic, oblivious, fool of a seventeen-year-old boy who's barely let go of his crush on a nun. He is not the worried man seemingly attempting to search through her very soul with his sorrowful gaze, or whatever. She swallows. Because she may be an adult in body now, but on the inside she's still seventeen and hopeful and clumsy with her feelings. She's always acted older than her real age, but now the thought makes her sick to her stomach. She wants to be seventeen again.

"I was seventeen," Noelle murmurs wearily, placing an arm over her face. "We were seventeen and we were fighting the Eye of the Midnight Sun and I died trying to save you."

She hears an exhale, and the mattress shifts. Asta is there next to her, again. "It was that nightmare again, huh?" she peeks at him. His gaze is turned heavenward, eyes far away. "Noelle—I cut through the attack headed for you, remember?" he crooks his head toward her, eyes soft and smile softer. "I'd never let anything happen to you. You'd probably haunt me in really petty ways for the rest of my life."

He grins at her, then, and her breath catches for a moment. Because for a moment, she sees the boyish Asta that she knows—the wild and reckless Knight of seventeen. So maybe he isn't totally grown up, after all.

Still, she huffs and whacks him on the head. "You're so stupid! Like I'd spend my afterlife haunting you! Get a life, Stupidsta! Not everything is centered around you."

There is a glint in his eyes that she's seen a few times before. It's the kind of dumbstruck idiotic look that he adopts when he's spieling about Sister Lily back at the church. She is immediately suspicious. Yet, he only stretches and runs a hand through his mess of hair. "Mngh, whatever. Are you comin' back to bed, or are you gonna sit on the edge all night?"

Noelle quickly decides that this new life (afterlife?) is going to take a lot of adjusting to. For example, sleeping in the same bed with Asta. Because that is apparently something that happens often.

She feels her cheeks burst into color and her entire body feels too warm. Wrapping one of the blankets around her, she stands from the bed. "I-I'm going to take a walk to uh, get some fresh air. I'll be back."

Then she immediately turns and practically scrambles for the door. She doesn't notice Asta's slight frown and troubled gaze following her as she goes.

...

[ _what would I be without you?_ ]

...

tbc

 **end notes:** i was right i already hate myself for this format. what an idiot. also i originally had a plan for this and forgot it in like a week. that says a lot about me tbh.


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